Darling
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Shelagh and Patrick's wedding night.


**I am being a shameless copycat of Equestrienne Dreams; she wrote a wedding night story so I had to do one too, though I'll never be able to write like her. **

"Darling."

She heard the word spoken softly, from over her shoulder, and turned back, smiling at him. He had just closed the front door behind them both, and he smiled broadly back at her. The front door of their home, she thought. Not of his home, or what would be there home; what was, in the here and now, indisputably, their home.

He came closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, kissing the side of her face gently and standing beside her.

"Welcome home," he told her softly.

He made it sound like a return, she thought, like this wasn't something new. It was- so many things about this, about them, were so very new to her- but at the same time it had the comfort of something deeply familiar. Unmistakeably, it had the comfort of home, like she belonged. She did belong. Her arm raised from her side, draping it around his waist, so that her body half turned and he was able to wrap his arms around her, gently turning to face her and pressing a kiss into her forehead.

She was still wearing her wedding dress. Chummy had made it for her, and she loved it so much that she hadn't wanted a going away outfit.

His lips were still on her face; hovering gently, kissing softly, down over her forehead, her temple, her cheek. Tilting her head back a little, she allowed him to meet her lips, continuing his tender conquest. His mouth, the feeling of his body holding her too, was warm, so very warm. He kissed her chastely, contentedly, until she parted her lips a little, allowed him access. Their kiss deepening, they were slow. She felt her passion building- everywhere he touched her, even through fabric, seemed to burn so beautifully- and she did not know how to stop it, did not want to stop it. Her arms clung to him as best she could, and she could feel him holding her shoulders, holding her upright, even. She let out a tiny moan against his mouth, but, much to her dismay, a moment later he pulled away.

"I know you probably feel as if there's an expectation," he told her gently, still holding her, "That we make love tonight. But, my darling, I don't expect anything of you. I will hold you all night long, forever, if that's what you want. Whenever you're ready. I don't want to do anything you don't want to."

He was looking so clearly into her eyes- the way he did that, she'd never known anyone who could do that, whose eyes she hadn't been able to run away from- she knew he could, he _must _be able to, see everything she thought and felt. It compelled honesty.

"I want to," she murmured back, pressing her lips briefly back to his, tasting him, allowing him to taste her.

She trembled just a little against him; partly out of nerves, partly out of pure aching for him.

"But you're scared?" he asked her, barely above a whisper.

"Not scared," she replied, because she could never be scared of him, "Uncertain."

She saw his eyes close, and new he was considering how best to reassure her. He looked like he needed reassuring himself. She leant in to him, resting her head on his chest.

"I've wanted you for so long," she told him, "Even in the early days- when I was so desperately confused- I would lie in my bed at Nonnatus House and somehow feel that everything would be better if only you could be there. I would look at my hand," she confessed, "Where you kissed me, and _hurt_ for wanting you. It still feels like that, but I hardly know what to do. So I need you to help me. Please, darling," she finished in little more than a whisper.

Slowly, every so slowly, he prized her hand from his body, the hand that she had cut, and held it, raised it to his lips again. Of course, she did not snatch it away this time, nothing could have been further from her mind. His lips trailed downwards, kissing the inside of her wrist, over her pulse, and mouthing over the gentle curve of the bone.

"You have no idea how unworthy of you I feel," he told her quietly, "That you should want me like this. You're so beautiful, you're so young, you're so good. And I believe you when you say you do, but I can't think why in the world you would."

"Shh," she told him, "Don't be ridiculous."

Her hand had fallen into his and their fingers had interlocked quite tightly.

"I love you," she told him, boldly, and then simply stated. "I've married you. And I do want you."

"As I do you," he replied, their eyes meeting again. This time they only looked at each other.

"Do you think we could go upstairs?" she asked him, tentatively.

"Of course, my darling," he replied, "Of course."

He led her by the hand up the stairs. It was late evening by now, and through the window at the top of the stairs, yellow evening light leaked in, and they cast long blue shadows down the walls. Pulling her into their bedroom, he shut the door behind them both with a satisfying click. For some reason it gave her comfort, and she smiled more surely at him, standing beside the bed, as he crossed back to take her into his arms.

"Shelagh," he told her gently, whispering her name like she'd never heard anyone speak it, almost making it sound like a new word, "You're so beautiful."

She kissed him fervently, heartened by the closeness, the intimacy of being alone in their room together. As they embraced again, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and to the floor. Now it was as if they were in their out impenetrable cocoon; and the air was thick and sweet with feeling.

His hands lowered to hold her hips, and she liked the feeling of it, how it kept them close while allowing them to move. Her hands rested on his chest, tugging at his shirt front a little, wanting more of him, and she felt her movements become insistent.

"Shh, my darling," he told her, "It's alright. We have the whole night."

"Please," she told him, not knowing what else to say, leaning her hips a fraction into his palms, "Please, darling."

"Turn around for me, then," he told her gently; guiding her around, lifting her hair from her back and placing it all forwards over one shoulder and deftly loosening the fastenings on the back of her dress, letting it loosen of its own according, helping it a little, letting it fall to floor. He stooped, about to pick it up for her, but she arrested his hand.

"It doesn't matter," she assured him.

She had caught him with his eyes at the level of her stomach, covered only by the thin silk of her slip. From here, his gaze flitted up, taking in the delicious curves of her body from this new angle. He could not help himself; he groaned, falling to his knees before her, pressing his lips to her stomach through the silk. His arms wrapped tightly around her hips, holding her to him; her leaning against him for support, her knees gone week- her hands wound into his hair. The heat of her rested perilously close to his cheek, his neck. Unable to resist it, he bowed his head further still, kissing her lower through the silk. He felt her writhe a little against him.

"Patrick!" he heard her exclaim softly.

Loosening his arms a little, he looked up at her, catching her face looking so full of surprise and pleasure.

She had never felt anything like this before; nothing had even come close to this.

"Lie down, darling," he told her, "Please, Shelagh, darling, just lie down."

She did as he bid her, making the few shaky steps it took her to get to the bed, sitting down as carefully as she could, her blood racing, and lying back. He joined her a moment later; their bodies aligning comfortably.

"I'm sorry," he told her, "I got rather carried away."

"Don't be sorry," she told him emphatically, pressing a hungry kiss to his mouth, then, "It felt wonderful."

"Do you want more?" he asked her.

"Oh, yes," was all she could reply.

First, he touched her breasts; lowering the straps of her slip, unfastening the catch of her brassiere, pushing it away and cupping her gently in his palms, kneading her softly.

Her eyes fell closed for a moment- absorbed in the feeling- but then flew open again as she felt a warm wetness around one of her nipples, and found his mouth latched on to her, gently playing with her as his hands and done a moment ago. The surprise made her gasp, but it soon turned into a contented sigh as she revelled in his ministrations, until his kisses began to trail gradually lower, reaching the line covered by slip.

He looked up at her, finding her eyes.

"May I?" he asked.

She nodded, trembling a little, unable to speak.

Gently lifting her hips, he pulled the slip, and her underwear, down and off. She felt alarmingly exposed, she was utterly bear before him while he was still in his shirt and trousers, but the way that he was looking at her changed that almost at once. It heartened her and excited her in equal measure; he was drinking her in- watching rapt, reverently- worshipping her body with his eyes. His hands rested on the naked skin of her hips.

"Can I touch you?" he asked quietly.

"Of course you can," she whispered back to him, and he did, gently pressing a finger to her folds, opening her up, feeling her hot and wet against his hand.

They both gasped, her audibly, half-moaning, him taking in his breath sharply. Carefully, he pressed his finger inside her, then added another, pressing his thumb against her nub; rubbing circles as his fingers began to move.

Her eyes were wide, swimming with feeling. Her breath was irregular and trembling, interspersed with throaty moans. Her hips, instinctively, without her meaning to, began to move against his hand.

"Shelagh," he whispered, "Darling."

He was hard and ready for her, so ready for her, but at the same time he wanted to do this, to see her clearly like this, to give her this. He kissed her breasts again; her skin tasted of the salty hints of an excited sweat.

"I don't know what to do," she told him, her breath panting deeply.

"Just let go," he told her, "Let go. I've got you."

Her face was tightened a little, as if in concentration, and he knew what he had to do. Bending down over her, he pressed a single kiss into her folds.

"Patrick!" her voice seemed to lose its control and her hips buck frantically against his mouth.

He kept kissing, drawing her into his mouth, kissing her until her call if his name became a toneless cry; her hips rocking insistently as she tried to ride out the feeling. He held her, his hands stroking her body, trying to soothe her.

It took what felt like a very long time for her to calm down. She did not know how long, her body was raging with the most exquisite feeling, the most delicious pleasure she could have imagined. More than she could ever have imagined. It felt like he had destroyed her in the most beautiful way and somehow made her whole again. It was still difficult for her to breathe.

When she finally managed to speak, she found that her voice was hoarse, and remembered how she must have cried out.

"Darling..." she could not think of what she could possibly say to him. But, as always, the meeting of their eyes was enough to say everything.

"Thank you," she whispered after a moment.

"Don't thank me," he told her, "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

There was a long pause.

"Do you want more?" she asked him, her hand slipping up to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one.

He did not stop her. He could not answer, just watched her as her hands parted, pushed off, his shirt and cautiously brushed over his chest, making his heart quicken again.

Reaching up for his lips, she kissed him, languidly, moaning into his mouth. His hands roamed back to her hips, holding her next to him.

"Darling," she spoke so quietly, so timidly, yet with a solid, undeniable edge of want in her voice, "Please."

"Please what?" he asked her.

"Make love to me," she requested of him softly, "Now."

"You're ready?" he asked her.

"Yes," she whispered in reply.

Rolling reluctantly away from her, he removed his trousers, underpants and socks as quickly as he could, lying back beside her on the bed, pulling her firmly into his arms.

"I couldn't love you any more than I do now," he told her, "I love you so much."

"I love you too," she told him, gently kissing his chest.

"Shelagh," he murmured, "Shelagh."

"Please, darling."

And he did, pushing inside her as carefully as he could, holding as still as he could manage. She was breathing very heavily. He waited.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yes," she told him, "It hurt a little at first but now it just feels-..." she let out the most sensuous moan, the most erotic sound he thought he'd ever heard, and he could not help moving against her.

He saw her eyes open wide with the feeling, and he sank back in, his gaze locking with hers, never leaving as they continued to move, her rising to meet him.

She had told once that she thought perhaps God had wanted her to love him, and he wasn't so sure about God, but in that moment he was utterly convinced that his own purpose was solely to make love to her, to be with her like this forever. For her as well, nothing had ever felt like this before. Every feeling she had for him; all the pain, the grief, the shattering love she had felt over him as well as the blissful joy came pouring out of her, through her body, to the point where it met his. The world revolved around them, and they continued to move, just move, with each other, unable to kiss any more, him pushing harder now, spurred on by her soft moans.

And then she broke again, dissolving into his arms, crying out as her body tensed and rocked with the delicious ecstasy that he gave her. She heard him moan, felt his body even closer, felt him spill himself inside her and then remembered nothing for a long while.

When she returned to her senses, she found him lying beside her, her body scooped into his arms and the bedclothes pulled up over them both. He was watching her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her softly.

"Perfectly," she replied, pressing a kiss to his lips and then lying back into his arms. "I'm so happy," she told him, simply, not knowing what else she could say, "I love you."

"I love you too, my darling," he told her.

They were quite for a moment.

"That was wonderful," she told him, "I don't know how to tell you-..."

"You don't have to," he replied, "I think I felt it too. Just go to sleep, my love, and if you want to you can try to tell me later."

She smiled, letting him kiss her once more, and closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest.

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


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